Six
“Meow.”
“Quiet, Snape,” I mumbled as I tried to ignore the guilt I felt about the Plenty of Fish and Sub Seeking Dom accounts I created on Thursday night. I thought I could resist the temptation of working on the book until Monday when the girls and I met at Gypsy’s, but I found out something quite unsettling about myself. I had no self-control.
After dealing with Dark Prince on Thursday, I knew I needed more control than I had over my creative process or I’d go nuts. But I also knew if I broke my word to the girls and worked on the story without them, they’d be pissed. I weighed my options and came up with the only conclusion I could.
My mental health won out.
Therefore, I decided to create accounts in my pen name and was now on POF and SSD as Grace Martin using my real photo, and my profile clearly stated that I was doing research for a book. But I still felt guilty, with good reason. I was breaking my oath.
Even though the girls had promised to meet me for coffee after work five days a week until we mapped out the story, the weekend stretched out in front of me and I gave into temptation by Saturday night.
So here I sat, trying to convince myself that there was no harm in looking at the messages in my in-box. That I was only doing what needed to be done for the book, yet, I hesitated.
On Thursday, I’d been determined to message with as many men as possible in order to get a feel for the type of guys who frequent these dating sites. I wanted to see the vast differences between the catfish Kasey encountered and honest men just looking for love. In addition, if truth were told, I was tired of sitting at home, so if in the course of research I stumbled across someone I was interested in, mores the better.
It had been two days since I’d posted both profiles and I was shocked to find them so full. Either there were a lot of desperate men in Tulsa or there weren’t a lot of women to choose from in this area. It wasn’t as if I was a knockout. I’m more of the kid sister type. More cherub faced than an exotic beauty like Angela, pint sized in comparison to Kasey’s long slender frame. My boobs were just average next to Janeane’s double D’s and my ass was put to shame by Kristina’s Voluptuous Maximus. Basically, I didn’t stand out in a crowd, but wasn’t exactly plain either. My best feature was my hair, but the rest of me wasn’t bad either in a short, blonde, big-eyed, firm legged, glowing skin kind of way.
I scanned through the messages while I fought with my guilt, but I figured what’s the harm in just looking. I opened the first message and I laughed instantly when I read, “I’ll sum up internet dating in two words for your book. Hopeful and emasculating.”
I continued to scan through the messages, which ranged from insulting to downright rude. There was “Hey, baby, you’ll be starring in my wet dreams tonight” to “If I agree to an interview, I accept all forms of payment. But fucking is my preferred form.”
Disappointed by the selection, and not seeing a catfish in the bunch, I scrolled back up to the first message and checked out the man’s profile picture. Thomas Sheldon was extremely good-looking, with light brown hair and green eyes. He reminded me a bit of Dallas, though he didn’t have that dark hero look to him. It was rugged yet more refined, more GQ if you will, than the jeans wearing detective.
“Married and a jerk, Nicola, so move on,” I reminded myself.
With nothing but a night of reading ahead of me, I figured I’d come this far already in breaking my oath to the girls, I might as well correspond with the man.
One hour later, after exceptional discourse, I hesitantly agreed to meet him Monday at seven for a drink to discuss my book further.
Picking up my Kindle after signing off my computer, I’d at least listened to Kristina’s advice about reading a BDSM novel in place of corresponding with a man like Dark Prince. Powering up my kindle, I opened Katherine Rhodes’ Consensual and picked up where I left off before logging on to POF.
“A good Dom will help their sub learn what they need to know so both of them can derive pleasure from the act. As I said, it can be as simple as some sensory play or it can get as deep as master-slave play. It could be a blindfold and hot lingerie or it could be forced chastity and cock and ball torture.”
Nathaniel's eyes grew wide. “Cock and ball torture?”
“Those in the lifestyle would ask you not to judge, Mister Walsh,” she said, a bright smile shining in her eyes. “There is a tenet in the lifestyle which everyone should adopt in life: always safe, always sane. Always be in possession of all of your faculties when you engage in play. Do not start a paddling session if you are angry. It changes from sex to revenge, then, and the pleasure is tainted forever. It will always be in the back of both of your minds—pleasure or true pain. And as such, if you are both safe and sane, there is almost nothing off limits.”
“What the fuck is cock and ball torture?” Bo shouted in outrage from behind the couch, causing me to jump out of my skin. Finn appeared in front of me and grabbed my Kindle, ruining what had been a quiet evening with a cup of coffee and a book.
“Hey, give me that back, you miscreant,” I shouted. Snape went flying to the floor when I stood up and glared at Finn.
“Miscreant? Jesus, Nic, you need to get out more. Repeat after me: asshole, douche bag, or rat bastard are acceptable terms in the twenty-first century,” Finn chuckled.
“Finn, I mean this with all the love a sister can have for a brother when I say: please give me my Kindle, then get out and don’t come back for a year.”
Of course, he ignored me and started reading my book instead.
“Why are you here?” I asked Bo as Finn chuckled.
“We’ve come to the conclusion you’re a hermit and need a night out on the town with us.”
“I’m not a hermit, Bo, and my idea of fun is not hanging around strip clubs while you attempt to make it “rain” when you can only afford to “drizzle.”
“Jesus, Nic, we were kids when we took you there.”
“Bo, that was last year,” I pointed out.
“And your point is?” he grinned.
“Out,” I shouted, grabbing my Kindle from Finn. “I was having a lovely evening with my book.”
Finn looked at Bo and shook his head in brotherly “Nicola’s nuts,” fashion before he leaned down, put his shoulder to my waist, and pitched me up and over. I was used to this maneuver so I didn’t fuss. Whenever they wanted me some place else they hauled me with them against my will. It was futile to throw a fit; they would only laugh and ignore me.
“Promise me no strip clubs . . . unless it’s male strippers,” I decreed. I wouldn’t be opposed to bare-chested men, but the look of “in your dreams” Bo gave me as he walked behind Finn said it was a no-go.
“We have something better in mind. All you can eat pizza and bumper cars.”
“Incredible Pizza?” I blurted out in excitement.
Finn put me down and grinned at my excitement. I loved Incredible Pizza. It’s the only place in town you could overdose on pizza, and then play laser tag, bumper cars, and putt-putt golf.
“You know it’s sad, Nic, that a kiddy arcade makes you this happy,” Bo exclaimed with a sigh as we headed out my door.
“You only say that because I kicked your ass at putt-putt on the last trip. Do you want a chance to redeem yourself or are you a chicken?” I goaded him with a chicken dance as he stared blank-faced at me.
“Double or nothing,” he growled as we climbed into Finn’s truck.
He was so going down.
“Like taking candy from a baby,” I bragged as we pulled out for a night of family fun.
Too bad, it was short-lived.
***
Incredible Pizza was really just a Chuck E. Cheese on steroids. It was geared toward older kids, but they took into consideration that parents would be hauled along for the ride, therefore they had bumper cars, a racetrack, bowling alley, and laser tag to keep everyone entertained.
The place was hopping with folks of all ages since it was Saturday night and a favorite place for families to spend time or have a birthday party for their kids in one of their private rooms. These private rooms were where my night went from family fun to all-out war with my brothers and a certain detective.
You see, there’s a shortcut of sorts that runs along the wall of the private rooms from the theater area to the food court. That’s where I’d cut through to get more pizza for my bottomless pit brothers. When I rounded a corner, once again with my head down, my mind on putt-putt and laser tag, I slammed into, yet again, a certain married detective.
It had to be said that the fates weren’t on my side. This made four—count them, four times—that I’d been responsible for covering the man with liquid. However, this time around there was a healthy dose of pizza and salad mixed in. And to make matters worse, Bo and his big mouth came up the rear after the collision laughing before I could apologize.
“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Dallas Vaughn growled as pepperoni fell from his shirt.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry I—”
“Hey, you wanna watch your fuckin’ mouth?” Bo barked out in brotherly defense.
Oh, brother, here we go.
For some reason neither of my brother thought I could take care of myself.
“Bo, telling someone to watch their mouth while swearing doesn’t give the desired effect,” I pointed out.
“Nicola, who gives a—”
I threw my hand over his mouth to stop his remark, and he glared at me, but held his tongue, thank God. I turned back to Detective Vaughn, hoping to smooth things over, and found the same brown-haired beauty from the picture standing next to him, smiling as she picked cheese from his shirt.
I’ll admit now it was a bit of a punch to the gut to see them together after almost a week of fantasizing about the man. Then I remembered he was a pig who winked and felt sorry for his wife.
“I’m so sorry I made a mess for you again,” I blurted out to his wife. She turned toward me smiling then did a double take. “You’re Grace Martin,” she blurted out.
“She’s Nicola Royse,” Dallas bit out, “and a walking, talking disaster,” he continued as he pushed past us and headed toward (for the fourth time this week) the men’s room.
“Dallas,” she scolded sharply as he glared back at me.
“I am so not a walking, talking disaster,” I grumbled at his retreating backside.
“You kinda are,” Bo laughed.
“I thought your name was Grace Martin?” his wife continued.
“Technically, I’m Nicola Royse. But I’ll answer to Grace Martin since that’s my pen name.”
“Well, either way it’s nice to meet you; I’ve read all your books. And please ignore my brother; he’s a little hotheaded at times.”
“Your brother?” I choked out, feeling my cheeks heat instantly with embarrassment. Hell’s bells, I’m an idiot. I just ruined four of his shirts and any chance I may have had with the man.
“Unfortunately, but I claim him most days,” she smiled.
I nodded, since I understood her sentiment, but I was mostly stunned. I’d thought the worst about the man and decided he’d deserved all the coffee I’d spilled on him. But he wasn’t married to her, she was his sister . . . unless.
“He’s not married?” I blurted out, determined to know for sure.
“Who, Dallas?”
“Um, yeah, your brother,” I asked, looking back over my shoulder.
“No, probably for good reason too, I’m not sure any woman can handle him. He’s kind of a caveman and grunts a lot. He’s the kind of man only a sister can love, you know what I mean?” she laughed.
“Uh, yeah, I understand that feeling more than you know,” I chuckled, ”Bo here is one-half of my twin brothers and they drive me to the brink most days, while eating me out of house and home.”
“How do you know my brother?” she asked.
“I don’t, well, not really. I’ve run into him a few times this week with, uh, my coffee to be accurate,” I grimaced.
“That was you?” she laughed.
“Guilty.”
We both giggled in female camaraderie as Finn walked up laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I questioned.
“You’ve been busy,” he answered oddly.
“Busy doing what?”
“Pissing off cops.”
“What? How did you—”
“Get this, bro,” Finn chuckled as he turned to Bo. “I walked into the men’s room and there was this pissed off guy trying to clean off his shirt. When I chuckled to myself at the mess, he looked up and glared at me. Then he said he had arrested murderers who were less trouble than my ‘woman’. Jesus, Nic,” he grinned at me, “you’re gone, what, five minutes tops, and you piss off the only cop in the place. That’s gotta be some kind of record.”
“I am not a walking, talking disaster,” I grumbled again as I rolled my eyes.
“You kinda are,” Finn laughed.
“Whatever,” I snapped then turned to Dallas’ sister, “It was very nice to meet you, but it’s time for putt-putt and ass whooping.
“I’m Erin Johnson, by the way, and it was a pleasure to meet you, too. I need to get back to my son’s birthday party as well, but a word of advice before I leave, if you don’t mind. His bark is worse than his bite if you’re interested,” she told me with the identical wink as Dallas.
Not about to admit I was more than interested, but knew without a doubt that ship had sailed, I waited until she left before I headed toward the arcade instead of the food area. I was in emotional upheaval right now and needed to hit something. I couldn’t believe I’d spilled food and drink all over Dallas Vaughn again. Not to mention, I was still reeling from finding out he wasn’t married. It figures that I’d send the first guy I’m attracted to in years running and screaming for the hills.
“I’m tired of waiting, Bo, let’s get this grudge match over with,” I threw over my shoulder as both twins followed me, still laughing at my expense.
Thirty minutes later and another victory in hand, we exited the putt-putt arena and headed toward the bumper cars. In line about ten people ahead of us was Dallas and whom I assumed now were his nephew and niece. He watched us walk up with a somewhat confused expression, looking back and forth between the three of us. Then Bo mumbled, “I think the light bulb just went off.”
“What light bulb? What are you talking about?” I asked.
“The cop. He just figured out we're your brothers, not your boyfriend.”
“Yep, two plus two just made Nicola single. Too bad for him we don’t like him,” Finn joined in.
“Why don’t you like him?” I blurted out as I watched Dallas turn from rigid to relaxed in the course of a heartbeat.
“He’s got a look,” Bo grumbled.
“Oh, for God’s sake, what kind of look?” I demanded as Dallas started to grin.
“That look.”
“What look?” I fairly shouted.
“A look that says I’ll be coming by your house without calling first for a sneak attack,” Bo explained.
“He doesn’t.”
“He does.”
“He hates me.”
“He wants you.”
“I spilled coffee on him.”
“He wants—”
“Three times, well, technically two, but my ass in the air caused the third, and if you count the pizza and pop, that makes four times in five days,” I rushed out.
Bo and Finn looked at each other with their brows raised in disbelief. Then, in some silent twin communication, they nodded, grinned slowly, and then replied in unison, “Tag team.”
"Oh, dear Lord . . ."
Picture it . . .
Round one went to the young knights as they cornered their prey with the bumper cars. It wasn’t really a fair fight since they boxed him in and slammed him into the wall any time he tried to move. The handsome warlord said nothing during this. He just clenched his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the fair-haired maiden, of all people. Then the knights took their battle to the newly installed “Rock and Joust,” an inflatable gladiator ring with a free-floating, rocking pedestal where opponents attempted to knock each other off. It was ugly—for the knights, that is—for the dark and dangerous warlord was a trained professional in the art of all things brawny, and barely flinched when each knight tried to dethrone him. Down one would go, and then the warlord would turn toward the other and motion him forward with the crook of his finger. While all this was happening, the fair-haired maiden watched in silent appreciation all of the dark and dangerous heroes’ manly skills . . . and tight ass.
Once the knights had been defeated in the jousting competition, they threw down another gauntlet in the form of laser tag. Aye, that’s right, the stupid knights wanted to test their aim in a dark space against a man who carried a gun for a living. The warlord grinned at their foolishness and shook his head at this challenge. For he knew too well the arrogance of the young knights and that their abilities in the course of battle would pale in comparison to his own.
The fair-haired maiden was dragged kicking and screaming into this fight, then strapped into a harness with glowing lights as a laser gun was shoved into her hands. The knights instructed her to, “Aim to kill,” and then off they all jogged into the black lights of a laser tag maze. Then the massacre commenced. There was grunting and shoving, and the occasional, “The guy’s like a ghost,” as the warlord’s points kept adding up. When the smoke had cleared on the knight’s challenge, and the scores were tallied, it was clear that the warlord had killed the young knights ten times over.
Get the embarrassing picture?
“Are we done playing “intimidate the cop”? I want to go home and forget this night,” I fumed at the two idiots.
Dallas and his nephew, along with other kids from the birthday party, were standing on the opposite side of the room peeling off their laser tag vests as I chewed on my childish brothers. Bo and Finn were smiling at me as I ranted because, clearly, they had a death wish.
“I’m changing my locks tomorrow,” I informed them. “You are officially off my invited guest list.”
“How are we supposed to build that bookshelf you want if you lock us out?” Bo laughed.
Oy, he had a point, and they owed me big time for this.
“Ok, after you build the bookshelf you are officially off my invited guest list.”
“What about the other list of things you need repaired in the house?”
“I’ll hire someone,” I threatened.
They inhaled sharply and it felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. I knew better than to threaten them with a competitor, ‘cause idiot brothers or not, they were the best in town. But I was pissed and had to make a point. I had to deal with Dallas (wishful thinking) because of his partner and I didn’t need the hassle he was sure to give me for their childish behavior.
“No one touches that house but us, and you know it. We didn’t spend a year remodeling it to have some amateur fuck something up,” Bo growled as we made our way out of the laser tag room.
“It’s not your problem anymore,” I explained in anger. I had to stick to my guns with these two or they’d walk all over me.
“Jesus, Nicola, we were only testing the guy to see if he was worthy of you, you don’t have to go off half-cocked.”
“Worthy of . . . worthy of me!” I shouted. “I have to deal with that man for my book and now you’ve put me in an embarrassing position. He wasn’t giving me a “look” other than one of hatred, for God’s sake.”
Bo was grinning at a point over my shoulder, which irritated me to no end that he wasn’t listening to me, so I turned around to see what he was looking at and saw Dallas marching toward us with a phone pressed to his ear.
He barked out, “Keep everyone out until forensics are on the scene, I’ll be there in twenty.” He swiped his phone off as he stopped in front of us and I forgot to breathe. He glared at my brothers for a moment while I stepped back and out of the way of the fireworks I figured were coming. Instead of fireworks, he stunned me beyond comprehension.
“This shit you just pulled all evening, I get it. But just so you know, if I wanted her, you wouldn’t have stopped me. Are we clear?”
The twins had been grinning at Dallas as he started to speak and when he was done, they were full-on smiling. When he was through with my brothers, Dallas turned, ignoring them both, and walked right up to me. I held my breath for what came next and he didn’t make me wait long. He leaned in, pinned me with those honey-colored eyes, and growled, “You aren’t goin’ on a ride-along with anyone but me do you hear me?” Before I could answer, he reached up, grabbed my neck, and jerked me forward, slamming his mouth over mine. The kiss was hard, brief, but had the desired effect—it left me speechless.
When he pulled back, he added with a gentle voice, “And just so you know, you won’t be able to stop me either.” Then he winked, grinned, and tugged my ponytail before he turned on his heels and left me standing in a state of shock.
“That’s the look,” Finn chuckled as he walked up next to me and threw an arm around my shoulders.
***
Death had a smell beyond that of rotting flesh. You could smell the victims’ fear right before they took their last breath. That was running through Dallas Vaughn’s mind as he stared at the mutilated body of Melissa Webster. She lay on the floor of her living room, dressed as if she’d just returned home from work when she was attacked. Her eyes were still open, staring lifelessly at the ceiling, and even though her face had softened with her untimely death, Dallas could still see the terror in her eyes.
Dallas had arrived on the scene before his partner and surveyed the body with rookie Sian Davis. Davis had been assigned to his department three weeks earlier and was wet behind the ears when it came to dealing with the sights and smells of a brutal murder.
“There's so much blood,” she whispered to no one particular.
“If you’re gonna get sick, take it outside so you don’t contaminate the crime scene,” Dallas relayed gently.
Shaking her head, but not taking her eyes off the victim, Davis sucked in a deep breath to ward off the nausea.
The crime scene had been photographed and forensics was dusting for fingerprints. Dallas turned when he heard Reed enter the two-bedroom house that belonged to the victim and waited for him to approach.
“Jesus, Joseph, and Mary,” Reed mumbled as he looked at the victim while making the sign of the cross.
It would take an autopsy to determine the cause of death, or, more to the point, which knife wound caused her death. From the amount of stab wounds in her abdomen, Dallas figured close to twenty; his guess was exsanguination
“She was a looker, that one,” Reed observed.
“And blonde,” Dallas pointed out the obvious.
“Not the same MO, Vaughn, he doesn’t rip them apart with a knife; he asphyxiates them.”
“He could be escalating or maybe he couldn’t get away with her so he stabbed her to keep her quiet.”
“That’s all conjecture at this point and you know it. Let forensics clear the scene, then we’ll see what we’ve got. Not every blonde in the city who’s murdered is a victim of The Shallow Grave Killer,” Reed advised.
Reed knew his partner had a hard on for the sonofabitch, but he needed him to focus on the evidence before jumping to conclusions. Not to mention that even if this was a Shallow Grave murder, they’d be handing it over to the FBI to investigate. That is, until they realized they were barking up the wrong tree, Reed thought with pent-up anger. It was just like the feds to stroll in and take charge. If they decided the Shallow Grave murders were the same sick fuck, then he and Dallas would be lucky if they were invited to sit on the task force. After Vaughn’s pissing match the day before he doubted Agent Parker would let him fetch his coffee, let alone sit in on their investigation.
As the partners talked, Davis suddenly threw her hand over her mouth before she turned and ran outside to empty her stomach.
“Do you remember your first bloody crime scene?” Reed asked motioning toward the door Davis had ducked out.
“I remember them all,” Dallas bit out, his eyes on the front door as well.
“She’ll get her sea legs,” Reed mumbled and moved on. “They find the weapon yet?”
“Yep, on the floor next to the body.”
Reed turned from the body and took in his partner, ready to ask him if they’d found any other evidence, when he noted the front of his shirt covered in what looked like food.
“Jesus, Vaughn, did you have a food fight with those kids of your sisters?”
“Nope, I ran into Sandra Dee,” he grinned.
“Did ya now? You know, if you ignore all the signs, it’s bad luck, my sweet mama always used to say.”
“What signs would those be, that she’s a danger to my wardrobe?” Dallas chuckled.
“Fate, Vaughn, fate. There aren’t many women is this world who look like that and are as sweet as a newborn baby. You need to get in there before someone beats you to the punch.”
“Jesus, you’re a romantic,” Dallas smiled.
“You gotta make time for what matters most in life, son. You think we bust our asses hunting these sons a bitches’ so we can go home to an empty bed?”
“You forget I tried that once and it didn’t work out,” Dallas reminded him, not about to tell him he’d already put Nicola on notice. He’d never hear the end of it either way, but figured, until he’d had time to explain how it was gonna be with Nicola, he’d keep his partner in the dark.
“You chose the wrong woman, Dallas. You take my June, for example. Sure, she’s hell on wheels, but she keeps me in line and makes life exciting. Makes it worth gettin’ up each day to fight the good fight and when she thinks no one is lookin’ she’s as sweet as a kitten. That, my friend, makes what we’re standin’ here viewing tolerable. I know when I leave here I’ve got warm and sweet waitin’ for me when I walk through the door.”
“You do know if June caught you callin’ her sweet she’d castrate you.”
“It’s the only thing that keeps me from callin’ her my sweet June to her face,” Reed chuckled. “Are you gonna listen to me and take Ms. Romance Novelist out for a drink?”
Dallas stared back at his partner and grinned.
“Nope, I’m gonna take her on a ride-along.”
“Christ, I gotta teach you about the art of—”
“Detectives?” a uniformed officer called from the hallway.
Reed turned, and Dallas followed suit, heading toward the officer.
“Did you find something?” Reed asked.
“In the bathroom on the mirror,” he responded.
Dallas brushed past the officer and pushed open the door to the small bathroom sandwiched in between the two bedrooms. The house wasn’t more than twelve hundred square feet like many of the homes in the small neighborhood that were built after World War II. Dallas scanned the room and noted it was in disarray unlike the rest of the tidy house. Dallas looked at the mirror, but didn’t see anything at first glance.
“Move to the other side of the room and look back toward the mirror at an angle,” Officer Rodriguez instructed.
Dallas moved across the small space, then turned around and looked at the mirror. It was faint, but you could see a word on the mirror, as if it had been written when the mirror was steamed over.
“Does that say master?”
“That’s what I was thinking as well,” Rodriguez agreed.
Dallas motioned Reed in and moved out of the way so his partner could get a look. Reed moved his head back and forth to catch the light coming in from the window and then paused.
“Sonofabitch,” Reed mumbled. “What the hell does he mean by that?”
“Hell if I know, but we’ll figure it out,” Dallas vowed before he turned to the officer and ordered, “Tell Jenkins with the crime lab about this. He needs to dust the mirror for prints and to pull the drain for hair and blood. If that bastard washed his hands to get rid of evidence, I want it.”
When Rodriguez nodded and turned to leave, Dallas halted him. “Rodriguez, nice catch. If you ever wanna make a move from patrol to homicide, let me know. I’ll put in a good word for you after you’ve taken your exam.” Rodriguez gave Vaughn a nod in acknowledgment before he turned to find Jenkins.
Dallas felt a headache forming as he turned back to Reed. All he had wanted was one day off from the ugliness of his job, a day to enjoy being with his family. He’d gotten neither.
“We need to canvas the neighborhood and contact her family,” Dallas reminded Reed as he rubbed his neck with the flat of his hand, exhausted at the thought. “Christ, the family. Whose turn is it to break someone’s heart?”
“It’s mine,” Reed answered. “Go home, Vaughn, I’ll handle this one. This shit’ll be waiting for us on Monday either way.”
“Home? To do what, exactly, pace the floor while I work the case in my mind?”
“Have a drink, hell, have a bottle. But get some fuckin’ sleep for once. Dream about blonde hair and green eyes, for Christ’s sake. It’s not that hard: you lay down on a bed and close your eyes.”
Dallas sighed at his partner’s dramatics then grabbed him by the shoulder, giving him a shove. “Jesus, enough hen-pecking already. You’re like an old woman when you get like this.”
Reed shrugged at his outburst and then answered with a grin. “I learned from the best.”